


Consensus

by PuppyChow (orphan_account)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/PuppyChow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legion continues to follow Shepard's trail, only to end up unexpectedly on the cold dead world of Alchera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consensus

Alchera was colder than the platform had expected. Not that it was not already aware of the specific temperature on the surface of the planet- negative 22 degrees Celsius, though on "cold nights" it could easily dip below 60 degrees Celsius. However, it was never warm enough for the organic it sought and the methane and ammonia of the atmosphere was too thick for any life that relied on oxygen.

The platform was unsure. There was no reason for Shepard-Commander's trail to lead to this far-off and desolate planet.

Landing was easy enough for the platform, but it knew it could not stay long; its sensors indicated a wind storm would be picking up soon, and the cold caused its various joints and springs to creak in a troublesome fashion. It would not be able to maintain function on the planet for more than 2 days, though it decided that its stay should be no longer than 4.5 hours at most. Scanning the landing area it had chosen, it sought out the last known source of Shepard-Commander before her trail - ironically, it decided- went cold.

After a recorded ten minutes of scanning and walking, the platform noticed a large hulking shape in the distance. It was difficult to make out with visual sensors with the weather like it was, but as the platform moved closer, its optical lens was able to focus on the shape of a downed ship. There were no infrared signals, and all machinations were long-since disconnected. Certainly no lifeforms were present, and scanners indicated the presence of zero heretic platforms in the area.

Wherever it was, this platform was completely and comprehensively alone.

A quick sweep of the wreckage gave it a wealth of information, despite no radios or computers being active. Even in its derelict condition, the ship was still recognizable as the _SSV Normandy SR-1_ , the ship Shepard-Commander used when fighting Nazara and the heretics. This was the ship- and the organic commanding it- that had begun to allow the non-heretic platforms to decide that there was a larger role to play outside of the Veil. It was the reason this particular platform existed in the first place. The data of this downed vessel was vital to its mission. It sent back multiple copies to the servers for further consensus.

Consensus returned and was mostly unanimous: for whatever reason, Shepard-Commander's ship was destroyed by a high-energy beam and crash-landed over Alchera. No life forms or bodies are present, but there are data sites on the extranet speaking of the death of Shepard-Commander. It is possible this is the final resting site of Shepard-Commander and the majority of her crew. However, scans indicate no organic bodies, dead or alive. It is possible that they have either been buried in the ice, or been moved by other parties. There appears to be little evidence of tampering at the crash site.

Status of killed crew: unknown. 

The platform looked around, the small pieces of metal above its optical rim rising and falling as it scanned. Despite knowing the possibilities of Shepard-Commander's death, hard evidence would be necessary for a 100% conclusive answer to the termination of her life. It walked around the crash site, scanning dog tags and other personal human belongings, but nothing appeared to be the property of Shepard-Commander. As it moved about, the platform's movements became more frantic, picking up and moving various objects, its metallic plates lifting to each dud material. If an emotive, sentient organic were viewing the platform, they would see likely frustration, confusion, or maybe fear on what would be seen as its "face".

But the platform did not understand those chemical-induced emotions. They were identifiable to the platform, but it did not "feel" such experiences as an organic would. It was impossible- the processes involved were not necessary for this platform. It needed to be reliable, to be _rational_ , to form consensus. But as a crate or two was flung out from the ship, the consensus whirred more wildly than normal, unable to determine if the platform's actions were, indeed, necessary to the mission at hand. Many felt that this was the most effective way to search the ship, and others demanded more discreet behavior. The platform stalled a moment- and again-, as the consensus battled within it. There was no rational reason for the divide, however, and in the end it was decided that however it was done, a search was necessary for anything that may point to Shepard-Commander's demise.

Another crate hurled twenty yards away from the shattered hull. A huge frozen beam of iron was removed from a collapsed stairwell with ease. The platform felt that reigning in its nano-tubing musculature to be unnecessary for this particular mission and hardly paid attention to the feats of strength it so casually created.  Instead, all that came from it was a clatter of _clicks_ , _sprats_ and _whrrs_ with no audience to appreciate the noise. Its impatience - no, this platform did not need impatience - _restlessness_ only grew as it made its way through a broken mess hall filled with empty weapon lockers, tossed about from the crash like rag dolls. Nothing of scannable interest, not even a bit of frozen, half-eaten food, or a weapon, or leftover heat sinks. Not even the piece of armor on the floor yielded-

The platform stilled, metallic plates raised. Surprise? No, that would be illogical, such armor should not be surprising. The _SSV Normandy SR-1_ was Shepard-Commander's ship, so finding this armor on-board should be nothing surprising. And yet still, the consensus did not know yet how to feel about the object in front of it. Gingerly, the platform reached down, picking up the remains as if they were sacred ( _Sacred?_ No. It did not worship. But the armor was still sensitive material that should be treated as such). The painted N7 logo on the breastplate and red-white stripe on the right arm clearly marked this armor as Shepard-Commanders.

It was identifiable proof of Shepard-Commander's demise.

Robotic fingers, laced with sensors and carbon nanotubing, gripped the armor more strongly than usual, lightly indenting the material. The consensus knew this conclusion was logical, and yet a large part of it rejected the revelation. There was no trace of organics here. There was no body, and no trace that one had been within this specific piece of armor when the ship was attacked. Despite the destruction of the _Normandy_ , this armor was relatively intact. Scanners indicated that no carbon-based organic died within it at any time during its existence.

While still improbable that Shepard-Commander was still alive, it was not improbable that she did _not_ die on Alchera. Shepard-Commander may still exist else-ware in the galaxy, in a place the consensus was unable to locate at this time.

Gingerly, the platform surveyed the armor before regarding its own torn plating. Bringing a fingered hand up, it felt the hole that had been blasted through its chest cavity by a rifle shot. It was a good hit, the consensus conceded; had the platform been a single unit, it would have easily disconnected permanently from the server. However, the platform had survived and escaped, the multiple units within it quickly rerouting and reworking to not lose data. The hole itself though was a testament to the fear organics still held for its kind, and the video file reserved for memory was not a pleasant one.

The platform was suddenly struck by an instant unanimous decision: _graph the armor plating to the platform_. The arm gauntlet and N7 logo would be enough, perhaps, for organics familiar with the colors to be less hostile, more understanding. Organics tended towards sympathetic reactions in regards to symbols and insignia they understood and recognized, and a quick extranet search was all that was necessary for the platform to understand how well-recognized this armor was. Had been. Would be in the future.

Perhaps, the platform mused, as it quickly jerry-rigged the armor to itself, it would also make it easier to find, discuss, and understand the whereabouts of Shepard-Commander. Perhaps, too, it may allow for friendly contact with Commander-Shepard, should she still be alive. of course, the probability of such an encounter was that of less than .001% at the present moment. It was almost wishful thinking, but the platform did not wish. It built consensus, and that tiny percentage was enough to cause the consensus to divide and - dare it even use the word- _"argue"_.

The mission was still to find and join Shepard-Commander. If it is the case that Shepard-Commander was departed, then the platform must be equipped with the ability to persuade her friends and allies to help it help them destroy the Old Machines. This mission is why the platform was created. If a percentage existed, it must continue forward. There were no other options it could afford to take and it certainly could not return to beyond the Veil, not after everything. Not after this. 

To do so would be illogical.

After the platform finished grafting the armor to itself, it did a quick once-over of its work and stood up, making its way back to its ship. It checked the time stamp on the recording of the downed _Normandy_ : it had been here .5 hours longer than anticipated. The metal plates over its optic lens rose; it was uncharacteristic of the consensus to lose track of time. With this new information it had acquired, the platform could not afford more setbacks.

There was still no hard evidence of Shepard-Commander's true demise. With this fact stored in its memory files, the platform turned back to the stars, and away from the cold wreckage it had sought such answers from.


End file.
